Staying at Home

As if any of us need to read one more thing related to the Coronavirus, but here it is anyway.

Like most of you, I've been struggling with this whole social distancing thing. As a relatively social person used to somewhat routine social interactions, I'm still trying to figure out how to navigate this. One way that my social distancing differs from others is that, as a nurse, I'm still working my usual shifts at the hospital. So when I see people online who are stuck inside with their children and their significant others, knocking out all those projects that they've been putting off for who knows how long because they suddenly have unlimited free time, I feel a pull to do the same. But the thing is, while still working, I don't actually have any additional time off; my days off are the same days off that I've always had. So in a way, I guess my social distancing isn't all that different from what I was doing before, I just don't get to see my friends, go to yoga, have a coffee date, hug people, etc.

Inspired by all of you at home who can't work, I've been trying to be productive...or more productive than I typically would be. One thing I read online about being productive while stuck at home is that you should always put on real pants. Don't sit around all day in your pajamas. It sounds funny, but wearing real pants can really change your mindset. Yesterday afternoon I was sitting at the computer desk in my bathrobe and my fuzzy house boots, and I made the decision to put on some pants. Make an effort. And not only make an effort, but make an effort that I wouldn't normally make. That meant leggings and all manner of pajama-esque pants were out. So I went to my closet and I found a pair of pants that I hadn't worn in a long time. Navy trousers, to be exact. So I put those on and found my bumble bee sweater and that's what I wore. I went back to my desk and I paid all the bills (sob). Then I got down the box of house documents that I've been stashing away, and I organized all the important documents related to buying the house, instruction manuals for all the appliances, past utility bills, documents related to the septic system, and the refinance paperwork. I laid all of it out, organized what I could, and set aside a pile of things that aren't important and could be burned in the wood stove. I then changed the sheets on the bed and did a couple loads of laundry. I should point out that I had worked the night before and had only been awake since around 1:30 in the afternoon, so this was a relatively productive afternoon for a first day off. In the evening Simon, our roommate Eli, and I watched Pan's Labyrinth.

One thing I've been missing so incredibly much are my yoga classes at Yoga Revolution. I miss being in that toasty room on my mat, surrounded by my peers, being led through a flow by some of the best yoga teachers (in my opinion) in the city. I miss that space. It's funny how being forced to stay home should provide me all sorts of time to myself, but that yoga studio was time to myself on a whole different level. This morning I set up my mat and I tuned into one of my studio's live-streaming classes. One, I was shocked at how much flexibility I've lost since going into isolation. Two, I never realized how much cleavage my tank tops reveal when I'm in anything but a standing pose...sorry guys! I had no idea! Hahaha!! Three, while definitely not the same vibe as being in the studio, I actually found the live-streaming to be really beneficial; I'm glad that I finally participated and I'm sorry that it took so long for me to do so. Truthfully, now that the studio might be offering live-streaming in addition to in-person classes once the shut-down is lifted, I'm hoping to maybe up my class participation...one in-person, one at home, per day. I know I don't live that far from town, but sometimes two trips into town on the same day feels like too much. Four, I was able to stay in crow pose for 5 whole seconds! I've literally been working on that pose for over a year now (probably more like two years if I'm being totally honest...I'm a slow learner and scared of bashing my face on the floor!), and something this morning finally just clicked. Thanks Lucy for all the encouragement, and for reminding me to keep my head up and my gaze forward...that made all the difference! For any of you interested in Yoga Revolution's live-streaming classes (of course I highly recommend this studio for all things yoga), head over to the Mind Body app and sign up. There are all kinds of packages that you can purchase, including new yogi packages with unlimited classes for one low price for the first month.

Today has been a pretty productive day, if I do say so myself. I got up and live-streamed the yoga class, Cooper lying next to me on his pet bed for moral support. Then I showered and put on real pants. After that I did a mini-fashion show for Simon of all the bike gear that I bought for a big group ride that we're doing this summer...sooo much spandex...hahaha! 450+ miles across the state of Iowa, which will by far and away be the longest bike ride that I've ever done. I did a 100 mile mountain bike ride last spring, and this upcoming ride will be on the road. I'm hoping that I don't die. I probably won't, but you never know. After the fashion show we had lunch and then we went into town to get a few things at Target. After Target we finally moved the light hanging over the dining room table to a better location. We've pretty much been putting off that menial task since we moved in. Now, no more weird shadows based on what side of the table you're on, and the light is actually higher up on the chain so that it illuminates a bigger area. Pretty much a win-win, not sure why we waited so long. It's just one of those things that gets overlooked by other things. And now here I am, working on a blog. It's been a good day. Hopefully we'll end it by having another movie night, which I've been enjoying a lot.

I've been trying to get outside every day. In February I re-injured the meniscus tear in my right knee, and about a month or so ago I managed to give myself some form of elbow tendonitis in my right elbow whilst riding my bike. So the right side of my body these days is for shit. Luckily Mountainaire is nicely paved and there's a 3-mile out-and-back walk that I can do to get in some easy mileage. A couple days ago I went on a hike with my friend Tiffany and her dog Jud, and my knee did fine with that, although some of the step-downs felt a little unsteady. I'm trying to keep active as much as I can, as staying inside all the time with seemingly nothing to do can lead to lots of boredom snacking. It's been nice sitting here at the computer, watching all the neighbors go by with their kids and their dogs. We see so many people outside now; this whole social distancing has been really good for that. It also helps that today is a nice day.

One thing that's saddened me a little bit about all of this is that the romantic idea of "Live and Let Live" is probably not possible, mostly based upon the hoarding of resources in the past few weeks. The hoarding situation is off the chain, and without limits set by the stores, they would absolutely continue. It's really quite sad, to be honest. On our Target trip today, we managed to nab a box of Kleenex (limit one per person) and some laundry detergent (limit 8 per person, which is kind of absurd...who needs 8 bottles of laundry detergent?). I was a little disgusted as I scanned the empty shelves for some laundry sanitizer, not because I feel the need to sanitize my laundry from coronavirus, but because it helps get the funk out of my athletic wear; only to get to the check-out and see the lady in front of me had 4 bottles of it. Seriously, leave some for the rest of us, why don't you? How much laundry is she really going to be doing in the coming weeks? Is she going to bathe in it? To be honest, I don't know her situation, but I was irritated by the fact that she basically bought out the store of that one particular item. Toilet paper is still no where to be found. I feel bad for the people who legitimately ran out of things during all of this and are now scrambling just to find enough to get by. I've been resisting the urge to stock up on things and join the masses hoarding supplies. Maybe I'll be the one lamenting my lack of prepping as this all drags on, but I'm hoping that it doesn't come to that. I feel like as Americans, our access to resources is better than we know, and all this resource hoarding is causing a false sense of hysteria that doesn't need to be there. We're good...we all just need to take a deep breath (6 feet away from the nearest human...hahaha!), share our resources, be kind, and wait this out.

To be absolutely fair, there are a lot of people who are doing good and volunteering and donating goods and services, and while this forced social isolation has brought out some of the bad (and let's be honest, it was always there), I'm happy to say that it's also brought out a lot of the good. I know so many people (myself included) who are supporting local restaurants by getting take-out, shopping local stores' online sites, and promoting the fact that these businesses are open to all their friends and coworkers. Simon and I have made a tradition of doing Sunday all-day happy hour at Karma Sushi, and this stay-at-home measure hasn't kept us from that...we just eat it at home now.

As far as work goes, it's scary. I'll be the first to admit that I was pretty lax at the beginning when it came to social distancing. I was flippant about how contagious it was, about how it was seemingly mostly affecting older adults with pre-existing conditions, which meant that as a healthy 40 year-old, there was little for me to personally be concerned about. I no longer feel that way and I'm taking this as serious as I can. I've taken care of a couple patients with this coronavirus, and they are incredibly sick individuals. The best way I can describe it is it's like the flu, but worse. Some of them, maybe a lot of them, end up on ventilators. Some of them die. Not all of them are old. My point in bringing this up is that if you don't have access to anyone who works in healthcare or who has seen this population firsthand, please take this seriously. Given the lack of testing in this country, we have no idea the real spread of this virus, we have no idea the number of people actually infected; people can have it and have little to no symptoms, but are still very contagious. Err on the side of caution and just assume everyone with whom you come into contact might have it. Think what you want about our President, I think his push to open the country and lift restrictions as soon as possible is a huge mistake with very real consequences for those we know and love. This isn't something where we can pick a day to just wish it away and hope for the best. We need to learn from what worked in other countries who had it first: stay home and stay away from other people as much as possible. Protect each other by staying away from each other. Wash your hands! These are literally the very best things we can do for each other and for our country. If you are an older adult in the 60+ range, please please take advantage of store hours servicing older adults. I was in Sedona the other day at a grocery store in the middle of the day and outside of the small children, I was one of the youngest people in a very busy and very packed store. I was appalled and concerned for all those older adults shopping, particularly the frail looking ones. Please stay home.

On a lighter note (and in closing), work on the van has been slow to non-existent lately. The weather has been cold and wet and we were waiting on some more electrical components to come in. Fortunately we were able to cut a hole in the roof and install the ventilation fan before all this weather rolled in. That was crazy to watch! I'll hopefully be getting around to posting photos on Facebook soon. We now have all the electrical and will hopefully be installing some, if not all of it, on Tuesday. Then we can really get after the insulation and start putting in the floor, walls, and ceiling. Building the bed platform and a storage shelving unit will come after that, and then it's putting the creature comforts where we want them. We were able to score a couple cabinets from the scratch and dent section at IKEA, which was huge. I bought some fabric and will try my hand at reupholstering the headliner; hopefully that won't be a complete disaster. If all goes well we'll be ready to start camping out of it by early summer, maybe sooner! It's been interesting doing this ourselves, and to be honest, Simon and his friends have been doing all the work; I've mostly been the person in charge of purchasing all the stuff and picking out the colors. Apparently to build a van it takes a village...who knew??

I hope this little update finds you and yours happy and healthy. I hope you're trying new things to keep you entertained, be it a new recipe, a new game, a new puzzle, a new exercise regimen, or a new book...or all of the above! Stay safe, stay well, my friends.

Meet Kiki Dee

Back in January of this year, I started fostering a sweet little cattle dog named Kiki Dee. Well, one thing led to another, and suddenly we found ourselves adopting her. Adopting a foster dog is known as a 'foster fail,' because the overall goal of fostering is to keep an animal with you until it's well enough or ready to go to its forever home. The foster home ideally is not the forever home, for multiple reasons. Adopting a dog you're fostering takes up the place of what could be an opening for another foster dog. Apparently I'm really bad at fostering, since the last two dogs I've fostered I've ended up adopting.

So sad and timid on her first day with us

Here's a little back story on Kiki Dee. Kiki was found roaming around the desert on the Navajo reservation with her 8 puppies. She was originally swept up by a puppy rescue that goes out to the local reservations on a regular basis looking for puppies. The reservations out here are rough places to be a dog, particularly a puppy. There's very little access to food or water, it's hot, there are lots of other animals fighting for resources, and there are so so many dogs. Too many dogs.

Pouting in the kitchen on her first day with us

I remember when we first moved out to Flagstaff, people would comment about how amazing their rez dogs were...that's what people call dogs obtained from the reservation...rez dogs. They're about any combination off mutt you could imagine, the vast majority being medium-sized and looking like either shepherd mixes or cattle dog mixes. When I asked about how one goes about getting a rez dog, most often the response was, "you just go out there and get one...they're everywhere. If they don't have a collar on, they're fair game." Which to me with my Midwestern mindset, sounded like stealing. What I later learned is that most dogs roaming around out on the reservation don't necessarily belong to anyone in particular. Most of the time if a dog does belong to someone, it has a collar on, but this isn't a hard and fast rule. Knowing my luck, I'd find myself out on the reservation stealing a dog that actually belonged to someone and having to answer to the reservation cops about it; that's a situation I'd really rather avoid.

My fuzz butts!

It is true though, that there are dogs everywhere out there. Every time we drive through the reservation, there are always multiple dogs loitering around at the gas stations, digging through the trash, many of which are obviously nursing puppies, judging by their swollen mammaries (sorry, I don't know what those are called on a dog...teats? udders?). Some of them would approach us, but most of them keep their distance. There's also a fair number of them lying dead along the side of the road, which always makes me so sad. Kiki and her pups were some of the lucky ones, fortunate enough to be spotted and taken up by the puppy rescue.

Kiki on the day she was picked up by the puppy rescue

The pictures of Kiki on her day of rescue are heart breaking...she's emaciated, all her ribs are showing, she has an obvious deformity to her left hind leg, and she's got scars all over her face. I can't imagine the number of times she had to defend herself or her puppies to receive all those scars. It's hard to say how old she is, how many litters she'd had prior to this one, how long she'd been alone, and if she had ever belonged to anyone. Given her incredibly sweet demeanor, I'd have to think that she'd at least had some contact with humans, but it's hard to say. Perhaps she was just a good-natured dog and a mix of breeds that are drawn towards people. Or maybe she's just very trusting. So she and her puppies got picked up by the puppy rescue, where they were then transported to a holding area prior to being brought to Flagstaff. There were 21 puppies total in one pen, along with Kiki, so she took it upon herself to nurse all of them. Super mom alert! The puppy rescue then contacted the Arizona Cattle Dog Rescue, which operates out of Flagstaff, and Kiki started her journey to being adopted into her forever home.

Kiki and some of the 21 puppies

Kiki was taken in with another cattle dog, a red heeler that they named Elton John. For those who don't know, (I didn't) Kiki Dee was a singer who sang "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" with Elton John. Since Kiki and Elton entered the rescue at the same time, it makes sense that they were named as they were. Having worked in a busy animal rescue in the past, it can be quite challenging to come up with new and interesting names for the dogs coming through. Litters of puppies typically have names that all start with the same letter, or are named after national parks, after famous actors and actresses, or after streets or restaurants in the town they were found. It keeps them from all having the same name, really, as inspiration can sometimes run low when you've got a high volume of intakes. My first rescue/foster fail was named Lady P, the P being for Plainview, which is the town in Minnesota where she was found. I eventually took to calling her Ladybird, and that name fit her quite well. Most of the time, it's quite easy to change a dog's name, especially if they're in a traditional shelter and not a foster home, as shelter dogs don't have as much one-on-one human interactions where you're saying their name over and over again. Even a foster dog's name can be easy to change. I elected to keep Kiki's name because she already responded to it, and because I thought it was kind of cute. It also met the requirements of a double-syllable word that ends with the "ee" sound, which I've read is the ideal combination for a dog name.

Cooper and Kiki...not quite a cuddle

When we first got Kiki as a foster, she had recently had surgery to repair her dislocated hip on her left hind leg. Unfortunately the joint was unable to be salvaged, as it had been dislocated for too long with too much damage, so an FHO (femoral head ostectomy) was performed. An FHO is the removal of the femoral head and neck; this removes the ball of the ball-and-socket joint, leaving just an empty socket. The muscles of the leg will initially hold the femur in place and over time, scar tissue will form between the hip socket and the femur to provide cushioning that is referred to as a 'false joint.' Although this joint is anatomically very different from a normal hip joint, it provides her pain-free mobility. She was undergoing physical therapy once a week to strengthen the false joint when she came to us. When we first got her, she would occasionally run around on three legs, holding up her left rear leg when she wanted to get somewhere quickly. I'm not sure if it was still painful from the surgery or if it felt weird to her and she didn't trust it. She definitely had a pretty obvious sashay when we first got her, but if you were to see her now, not knowing about the modified joint, it would be difficult to tell that there is anything different about her at all. She moves normally, although every now and then there's a hitch in her step that you wouldn't see in a dog with two normal hip joints. The hip definitely does slow her down sometimes, and she does better on hikes across flat ground where she doesn't have to jump up on rocks or do technical traverses. Despite all that, she's always ready and willing to get outside for a trek in the woods or a jaunt around the neighborhood. 

Trekking with Simon last winter

I can't quite say enough about how much Kiki has been a positive addition to our lives. It's interesting to me how sweet and trusting Kiki is, given the very real possibility that her interactions with humans prior to being picked up by the rescue had been limited at best, if at all. She loves all manner of humans, including children, and pretty much all animals. I trust her completely around anyone. She has a pretty decent prey drive, however, with squirrels being her primary obsession. I don't know that she would kill a squirrel given the chance that she was actually able to catch one, and I'm glad I haven't yet had to have that experience. When we go out for walks in the woods, it's hard for me to break her focus when she's on the trail of a squirrel or any other ground dwelling creature. It's something that we're still working on, as she'll take off and be out of sight, completely ignoring my attempts to call her back. It's not a safe situation for her to be so singularly focused, as she might get too far away from me and become lost, she might encounter an animal who doesn't appreciate her curiosity, or even get herself into an unsafe situation with another human or animal who might feel threatened by her presence. I was particularly concerned on a couple occasions when she took off after some deer in the woods, knowing that most of the time deer will run and can very easily outrun her, but if in a situation where they feel the need to defend themselves or their babies, deer will absolutely stomp a dog to death, as will domestic livestock, which I'm sure she would also be happy to chase if given the opportunity. We did have her around my cousin's horses once and she paid them little mind, but if they had started to run the situation might have been different.

Too cool for school

She's an incredibly goofy and quirky dog, and given the fact that she's definitely got cattle dog in her, that doesn't come as a surprise. Cattle dogs are quite quirky, and typically bond with one person and one person only. Sometimes they'll bond with an entire family, but they usually bond with one family member more strongly than the others. Kiki has definitely bonded strongly with both Simon and I, but Simon is the person that is her primary bond. She doesn't herd us around the house too much, which some cattle dogs will do, but she does nip at our lower legs and thighs when she's excited or trying to get our attention. Every now and then she gets me in the back of the arm...it's funny how good she is at using those tiny little front teeth of hers, and that she's gentle enough to not hurt me, but assertive enough to apply just enough pressure to relay her intentions. She adorably does the cattle dog lean, at times leaning so forcefully that she nearly tips either herself or one of us over. For a cattle dog, I find Kiki to be incredibly social, as she wants to greet and interact with every person and animal she comes into contact with. Most cattle dogs I see are very aloof when it comes to interacting with anyone who isn't their person, and most of them I've encountered haven't exactly been dog friendly either. I'm glad that she's social, as I think aloof dogs can sometimes make people feel uncomfortable, particularly if they're not familiar with the personality traits of cattle dog breeds. She's incredibly playful, and while she's still a little awkward playing with our friends' dogs, she still tries. She loves her squeaky toys, but will only play with them in the house, although she tries to carry them outside and leave them out there all the time. Not sure what that's about. The cutest thing ever is when she snuggles and sleeps with her toys. It just melts my heart to see this dog that no one wanted, resting so comfortably in a home with her toys and people who love her.

Snuggling with her toy

When we first got her, I wasn't too sure about allowing her in our bed, since for the past few years we've just had Cooper in the bed, and sometimes, despite his size, he gets in the way, hogs the blankets, etc. For the first week or so after we got Kiki, she would come into the bedroom but wouldn't come up on the bed. She would peer over the edge of it at us, willing us to get out of the bed and interact with her. Truth be told, I love having dogs in the bed with me. As long as I can remember, I've always had dogs in my bed. Simon would rather have no dogs in the bed; in fact, he would honestly prefer that we not have any dogs at all, not because he doesn't like them but because they complicate our lifestyle. Dogs are such an important part of my life and are so good for my mental and emotional well-being, and he's accepted that, which I appreciate. I adore having Kiki in the bed. She's such a snuggler, and she loves cuddling in between us, snuggling against Simon while reaching out a paw to rest on me; she even grips with her toes, giving me a gentle squeeze. She loves physical interaction, and I love that about her. My pug Brie was a champion snuggler, and I've missed having a snuggly dog, as Cooper doesn't care to snuggle, preferring proximity but not touching. Sometimes Kiki and I will lay in bed together, she with her head on Simon's pillow, and just look at each other while I pet her. I know that makes me sound like a crazy dog lady (owning it), but I just love and appreciate her so much.

Holding hands in bed

It's still so amazing to me that a dog who had been so neglected can be so sweet. I can touch her anywhere, including her paws, which most dogs loathe; it just goes to show the trust she has in us by allowing us to touch her face, her tail, her ears, her belly, and her feet. She sits calmly and quietly while I trim her nails, something I've never been able to do with any of my other dogs. It's been interesting to see the progression of her confidence and trust versus the progression of my previous cattle dog, Lady. Lady had clearly been not just neglected, but also abused, and most definitely by a man. In the beginning she would try to hide from men, and if she felt cornered or not able to get away, she would get defensive. She nipped my brother Mike the first day I brought her home. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to let him know that she was not comfortable with him being near her. It took quite a while for Lady to be okay with men, and I think having her in my family home for the summer between my junior and senior years of college with frequent exposure to my dad and both my brothers started her on the path towards trusting men. Durning my senior year of college, I lived with 5 other girls, most of whom had boyfriends who visited quite regularly, who were all very kind and patient with her. Those interactions further encouraged her trust of men, and by the end of my first year with her, I'd say she was pretty trusting of most men, even those she hadn't met before. Kiki has had a much easier adjustment to becoming a member of our family, but I'm thankful that I had those experiences with Lady to give me some experience on welcoming a rescued pet into our home.

Beer:30 on the Humphreys Peak trail

Almost a year ago now, Kiki came to us very timid, shy, and little bit broken. Fast forward to now and it's like she's always been here. Even the grumpy old man has accepted the fact that she's here to stay, although he still keeps his interactions with her to a minimum. She fits in perfectly and I'm so incredibly thankful to have her in my life. She makes me happy everyday, and I can't imagine our home without her.

One of my favorite photos of her from last winter

Final thoughts: People choose their pets for all sorts of reasons, and while I'm not a rescue elitest, I do feel adopting an unwanted pet such a great way to go, even if there is a specific breed you're looking for. There are so many breed-specific rescues out there, with most of their dogs (even puppies!) in foster homes getting love, attention, care and training. Saving a life adds another dimension of love to your relationship with your dog, and it's almost as if they know they've been rescued.

This is 40

This is 40

A couple of weeks ago, I turned 40. It wasn't scary, it wasn't traumatizing, it wasn't invigorating...truth be told, it felt like just another day. Society has taught me that 40 is supposed to be monumental in some way, but I just didn't feel it. However, given that society expects some sort of reaction to entering this decade, I'll take the time to write a little bit about what turning 40 feels like for me.

My birthday was actually very low key. My friend Ellen, her husband Fred and their two very adorable girls flew out from Minnesota to spend my birthday weekend in Flagstaff. The first night they were here, my birthday, pretty much everyone was in bed by 7:30pm...hahaha! We then spent a couple days here in Flagstaff, and ended the trip with a day in Jerome. We made birthday cupcakes and just enjoyed each others' company. It was a great visit and a wonderful way to spend my birthday.

Jerome with my wonderful friend, Ellen

 My birthday was a far cry from those Over The Hill parties that I remember my parents and their friends throwing for each other when they started taking turns turning 40. I remember black balloons and streamers, cupcakes with tombstones on them, cards with statements about being one foot in the grave, jokes abounded about the birthday girl or guy being so elderly he or she needed a walker or should start wearing adult diapers. I know people whose age has been a sore spot in the mirror for several years now. They don't like the fact that they're aging, they don't like the way their new age feels both on paper and in their joints, and I just have to wonder at the response they would have to a party thrown for them with tombstones everywhere. Some of them I know for a fact would not be amused, and might even be devastated. I'm not sensitive about my age and I don't know if I'd necessarily appreciate a party like that, but I think I'd be able to find the humor in it. I wonder if my parents or their friends were hurt or upset by the Over The Hill parties. I never thought to ask as I was making jokes about them remembering what it was like to live amongst the dinosaurs.

The thing is, I don't feel like 40 is old at all. I think it's entirely possible that some of my best years are yet to come. My 30's were far better than my 20's, and I'm hoping that my 40's follow that same pattern. Although I can't help but wonder...does being 40 make me middle-aged? Because that kind of sounds old, but 40 is halfway to 80 and I think 80 is a more than an acceptable age to check out of this life, so maybe I am middle aged, but I still don't feel old. I feel like there's so much left of this life to do and see and explore, and given the steps I've taken with my lifestyle and my finances, I'm in a perfect position to pursue those things.

In Alaska with Lindsey, Holly, Mike, and Simon

Despite the wisdom, financial stability, and personal acceptance and well-being that comes with age, there definitely are some drawbacks to aging, I won't deny that. However, I'm taking it head on and one day at a time. Here are some things I've been up to as of late...

How I'm feeling: I continue to gain weight. Having been consistently the same weight for so many years, this is a frustration that I feel a little inept to handle. Let's be honest, I don't really eat all that well, but I'm not a glutton either, and the fact of the matter is that over the years, my diet hasn't really changed all that much. Truthfully, I eat far better now than I used to a decade ago when I was downing Doritos like they were supplements and eating cheese like it was life-giving food from the gods (it isn't?). I need to understand that as I age, my metabolism and hormones are affecting my weight more than they used to, and I need to somehow account for that, but I don't know how. Maybe not eating ice cream at 10pm and then going to bed immediately afterward would be a start...hahaha! Luckily I'm not alone in this regard, as many of my friends are having the same issues as they age. A couple years back, late in the evening on New Year's Eve, a friend texted me "I'm so fucking fat." I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, and I questioned whether or not the text had actually been for me, as there was no preface or followup to it. Not wanting to be a jerk in the event that the text had, in fact, been for me, I responded with kind words of support. I heard nothing back that night and we haven't spoken of it since, and that's all right. Sometimes we have those weak moments where we just need to reach out, air our grievances, and never speak of them again. I get it. I'm there.

Staying informed: I read the news every morning and listen to NPR in the car. Granted, these are not bad things, but they're not exactly fun things either. I struggle to find the balance between wanting to be informed and being absolutely overwhelmed and disgusted by the information I'm given. Sometimes I take a break from all the crap coming out of Washington DC and scroll though a few Buzzfeed articles featuring cat videos or funny things children say. I'm also a huge fan of Tasty videos...I could watch those for hours while internally lamenting the fact that there is no one here to make the recipes and then feed them to me. Keeping my news intake light helps to keep it a little more real, and to let me know that life isn't as bad as the Huffington Post might make it seem (to be honest, Huff Post isn't a reliable source of information for me, it was just the first that came to mind).

Wine tasting with cute babies...a current hobby

What I'm watching: I am in bed by 9pm most nights, and that's typically a late night. Exceptions to this are when I'm elbows deep into an HBO or Netflix series; I can stay awake for hours watching those. While not typically a TV person, there's something about a well-done series that sucks me in every time. I just finished Season 2 of West World and have determined that I need to watch the entire season again, because that series is just too complicated to grasp on one viewing alone. I also watched Season 3 of Stranger Things and cried during the last episode...damn you, Hopper. As a guilty pleasure I also finished Season 3 of Divorce, starring Sarah Jessica Parker and Thomas Hayden Church, two actors I greatly admire, and a subject matter that is all too common these days: finding balance in blended households and dealing with all the emotional fallout that comes with the end of a relationship while still attempting to remain civil for the sake of the children. I think it's decently well done, although this is coming from me, who has neither been divorced nor has children, so take that with a grain of salt. Simon and I have just started His Dark Materials, which is a series adaptation of the Golden Compass books. I enjoyed the books and actually really liked the movie that they had made starring Daniel Craig (swoon); I was disappointed that they didn't continue the books as movies, but so far the series seems to be really well done and is expanding on the books in a way a feature length movie never could.

What I'm reading: I am currently reading a book called Flushed, which was given to me by a friend whose book choices always inspire me. Flushed is all about the history of plumbing starting thousands of years BC up until modern times. The book makes the very accurate point that plumbing is truly what separates the haves from the have nots, given that access to freshwater and reliable removal of wastewater can be the difference between life and death. It's actually a very fascinating read, and it's written with the right amount of humor to keep it interesting. Fun fact: the lead poisoning that caused the demise of the Roman Empire wasn't the lead pipes for plumbing, it was the fact that they were using lead as a sweetener, because apparently lead is sweet, which is also why modern day children eat the paint chips of lead-based paint. Interesting, eh? It's amazing to me the amount of nonfiction I read these days. I still enjoy Stephen King and I just finished The Handmaid's Tale, but I've started to alternate fictional books with non-fictional books. Bonus points given for a really good historical fiction book...those are my favorites.

What I'm wearing: The advent of athleisure (athletic wear worn in a leisure setting) has been about the best thing ever for me this past decade. Although lately I've been less inclined to be a walking billboard for Lululemon; I've been trying to change things up a bit. A friend of mine was recently completely shocked and surprised to see me in jeans. In fact, she commented that she's never seen me in jeans, and we've known each other for over 7 year now. Don't get me wrong, I love my Lululemon and I love the fact that I can gain weight and those high waisted leggings just tuck it all away as if it's not even there, but I don't feel the need to always look like I just came from the gym or the yoga studio (although, if we're to be honest, if you see me out and about, that's usually where I've just come from or will shortly be heading to). I am also enthralled by thrifting. I love that I can add a significant amount of name-brand and unique variety to my wardrobe by spending very little money, particularly if I shop half-priced days at Savers (every Monday) or Goodwill (every other Saturday). To supplement my thrifting, I hold quarterly Naked Lady Parties. What is a Naked Lady Party, you ask? Well, I get together with a bunch of my girlfriends, and we bring all our unwanted clothing and accessories, and have a clothing exchange whilst drinking wine and eating snacks. Free wardrobe additions, camaraderie, and lots of laughs. Some of my favorite wardrobe pieces are those I have pilfered from my Naked Lady Parties. One time my friend Andrew showed up, tried on a cardigan, dropped off his baby, and left. Never a dull moment.

Adventuring in Washington with Jim, Jess, and baby Raegan

Where I'm going: I don't have too many trips on the horizon. Truth be told I'm taking a much-needed break from traveling, which is good for me. It's nice to be home. I recently reorganized the kitchen and bathroom cupboards, trying to make the space more efficient, and I think I did a pretty good job of that. I like organizing things, and the cupboards were something that have needed to be addressed for some time but with so much coming and going over the past few months I couldn't be bothered to tackle it. I have one trip coming up before the end of the year, and I'm super excited about it. I'm going to Seattle in December with a bunch of ladies and we're going to see Brandi Carlile in concert with the Seattle Symphony Orchestra, something I've been wanting to do for years. We have one more ticket available if anyone wants to join, hit me up if you're interested! After Seattle there are some potential trips, including but not limited to: Whistler in February, Alaska in the spring, Florida in the spring, Hawaii in March, Phoenix in March (happening), Utah in April, Alaska in July (happening if my time off gets approved), Boston in July, and Minnesota in August (as per usual). I'm sure more potential adventures will pop up in the meantime, but for now I'm just enjoying being home with Simon and my dogs, enjoying my friends here in Flagstaff.

The old man

My dogs: Cooper continues to age, and while it's incredibly sad to think about his imminent demise, I'm prepared for it. I've had 15 wonderful years with him and I'm thankful for each and every one. He still makes me laugh everyday, and his favorite things are still going to bed, napping, and carrots. He is currently pestering me as I write and is refusing to lay in the pet bed that I intentionally placed next to my desk for him; most likely he is wanting me to go lay in bed with him or sit on the couch with him, although he doesn't actually want to snuggle, he just wants me to be in the bed or on the couch near him, but not touching. All in good time little buddy, all in good time. If I were to stand up right now he would inevitably hobble as quickly as possible down the hallway towards the bedroom, making his true intentions crystal clear: it is always bedtime. Always. Kiki continues to be an absolute delight, and I'm so incredibly grateful that she wandered into our lives. She is the sweetest, most wonderful, most caring dog I think I've ever met. She loves nothing more than a walk in the woods or a ride in the car (even though she sometimes pukes in the car...we're working on that). She, unlike Cooper, loves to snuggle. Unfortunately she prefers to snuggle with Simon over me, but when he's not available she's all mine. I've actually started a blog all about her...that'll be coming soon. Truth...I just got up and Cooper ran down the hallway and into the bedroom. So predictable. He's now standing next to my desk again, staring with his tail down, refusing to lie down in his bed that is mere inches from where he's standing. A day in the life, indeed.

A look ahead: Good friends, good food, good beer, good times. That's about all I could wish for myself. That and a camper van, a gas stove, a kitchen island, and a snowy winter so I can continue to slowly get better at skiing. All good things   

Pines On My Mind

Ponderosa Pines with the San Francisco Peaks on the background

Well, I've done it. I've changed my blog name. It's something that I should have done long ago, but just never got around to doing because I thought that it would be this daunting process that would fully expose my ineptitude in all things tech. Turns out I just went into my settings, picked a new name, and hit the Save button. I'm glad no one else had this name already, which I was a little surprised by. Normally I don't see myself as being the first to think of anything creative, as creativity is often times a huge struggle for me.

Sunset through the pines

So, a little back story. I originally came up with the title Eat. Poop. Live. as a play on the book Eat. Pray. Love. I felt that my title represented me pretty well, as I love to eat, I've been known for years as a person who talks far more than she should about poop, and I'm all about getting out there and living your life. Pretty perfect, right? Not so much when you string those words together in a sentence with no other context.

Snow on the Pines

It was just over a year ago that my friend Colton drove to Flagstaff from Arkansas to visit Simon and I. We had a great time tooling around northern Arizona, showing him all that things that we love so much about living out here. It came up at one point that I had a blog. Colton wanted to read it, so I texted him the URL of the blog so he could find it. He texted me back not long after, wanting to make sure that I had actually sent him the right blog address, and that he wasn't going to end up on some site where people were eating poop, live on camera.

Home sweet home, surrounded by Ponderosas

I was horrified. How had I NEVER noticed that? How had I NEVER even thought about it? Seriously...me, the poop talker. To my credit, the subject of anyone eating poop very rarely comes up in my poop musings because that's just gross. No one should be eating poop. However, there is a subculture out there who do, and to each their own, but I was pretty disgusted and embarrassed to be linked to them in any way, shape, or form.

Getting ready to ride into the pines

So yeah...Eat. Poop. Live. had to go. Now that I'm 40 and feel like an actual adult (mostly), it seems like a good time to make the change. I've been thinking about it the last few weeks, and truth be told, it's hard to come up with a short little phrase to describe yourself that is both catchy and representative. Some of my favorite blog titles of blogs that I frequent: Bits of Sunshine, Pinch of Yum, Minimal Effort; to name a few. I feel like each of these blog titles represents their authors or what they're trying to convey in their blogs, and that's something I wanted too.

Rainbows, Ponderosas, Grand Canyon...do I really live here???

So why Pines On My Mind? Well, for starters, I live in the largest Ponderosa Pine forest on the planet. They are everywhere. I see them everyday, I interact with them in some way each and every day; they have become a consistent part of my life, and one that I'm mostly grateful to have. I love being out in the middle of the woods and taking a moment to be quiet, to listen to the sound of the wind through the trees. There's something very unique sounding about wind through pines. On a warm day, if you get close and smell the bark of a Ponderosa on the sunny side, you're met with the faint scent of caramel and vanilla. Sometimes in the summer on really warm days the whole forest smells like that. Some Ponderosas are tall and spindly, some are bushy, some are gnarly...there's a lot of variety in how they look. They are the welcome sign when we are driving up from Phoenix, letting us know that we are almost to 7,000 feet of elevation and are almost home. They can be fragile, in that they grow in rocky soil and sometimes have difficulty putting down deep roots, and are sometimes blown over by the very wind that we enjoy hearing so much. We recently had to have the biggest Ponderosa on our property removed after it blew over in a wind storm. It's sad to look out into the back yard now, seeing the stump; it's all that remains of what used to be a big, beautiful tree. What Ponderosas might lack in a root system they make up for in resilience, surviving wind, forest fires, snow, rain, heat, bugs. There are dead Ponderosa skeletons dotting the forest, looking both spooky and regal at the same time. In the fall and spring the needles that they drop all over everything are the bane of my existence. I didn't think anything could be worse than raking oak leaves. I was mistaken. They're pokey, they're sappy, and they nearly destroy any sort of lawn bag you try to put them in.

Pine viewing from the hammock

These pines...they're a part of me now, and I found it fitting to include them in my blog, which is a part of me that I share with you. 

Checking in

Good morning everyone! Well, it's been a minute since I last wrote a post, and usual, I'm sorry about that. The creativity has been low around here as of late, and rather than throwing half-assed, poorly thought-out drivel at you, I decided it was best to wait until something inspiring came along to blog about.

While this blog might not be all that inspiring, there are a few things I want to talk about. It feels good to write again. I wish I had this creative energy more often!

First things first, it's just after 6am...what the heck am I doing awake at this hour, blogging away in my bathrobe? The answer? I have no idea. Over the past few months I've been waking up earlier and earlier. I'm not sure if this is a hormonal change, a life change, the changing of the seasons, or what but I can't say that I'm overly disappointed by it. Truth be told, I'm a morning person; always have been. Which is weird considering that I've worked night shift for 17 years. The funny thing is that while I might truly be a morning person on my days off, I'm definitely a better working person at night. I sleep pretty well during the day, and function pretty normally at night, so it all works out. However, on my days off, I'm lucky if I stay awake past 9pm. Sometimes I even slink off to bed just after 7pm, being ridiculed by Simon for my walk of shame down the hallway and into the bed. So yeah, the sleeping habits have definitely changed over the course of the past year. I'm not upset about it, just taking it all in with mild curiosity about what comes next.

Part of the reason I'm blogging so early this morning is that I'm waiting for it to be light enough outside for me to safely go for a run. Yes, I've started running again. Don't alert the press or anything as I've yet to establish any sort of regularity in running, but over the past week I've ran 4 times, which is huge for me. After loudly proclaiming that I was never going to the do the Imogene Pass Run again, after this year's somewhat disasterly couch-to-Imogene run (not recommended), the idea of doing Imogene again has been creeping into my head. It might be a case of enough time having passed since the suffering occurred that I've forgotten how awful it was. But I do remember how awful it was. I remember how much it hurt to move, to breathe, to think, to carry on a conversation. I remember all of those things. And yet...I remember the camaraderie between the runners of all ages, shapes, and abilities and remember how good it felt to be a part of all that. Mostly I remember how fun it was to be in a place with its almost unparalleled beauty, doing a run (hike) like that with some of my closest friends in Flagstaff. There are not many people in this world who have been privy to me having a meltdown, and there's probably even less of them that would support me through it, let alone stick around for it at all, but Tess did. She believed in me and she waited for me when I fell behind, even though she didn't have to and her finish time definitely suffered for it. It meant so much to me. So I can't do Imogene without training this time. I can't even consider it. If I don't start adding running to my list of physical activities for the week I shouldn't even sign up. It's dangerous to go into something like that with no training. I could have been seriously hurt or worse. It's a testament to my physical ability that I can do something like that with no training, but it's also a glaring example of my stupidity and lack of discipline. If I want to do the things, I have to put in the work. End of story.

I'm still enjoying yoga as my place of refuge. It's funny how I can be having a bad day, or just be in a grumpy mood, and the minute I enter that warm, toasty studio and start deep breathing, it all just melts away. I just can't say enough about yoga, and Yoga Revolution studio in particular, has brought about such good, positive change in my life.

I'm continuing to make my way through this concept of adulting. It's weird, and I'll touch more on that later. Being an adult is challenging, and we're living in an age where working and maintaining a home and a family takes so much less time than it did for our parents and grandparents. We make more money, we have more free time, time management has been optimized by technology, and we've reached a point in life where we sometimes struggle to find productive and meaningful things to fill the space. I really never thought it would be this challenging to be an adult. My parents seemed to have it all together when I was growing up, so naturally I thought that I would too. It's possible that maybe they didn't have it as together as I perceived, or maybe our generational and lifestyle differences don't make for fair comparisons. So I'm working on that. Working on my relationships with others, working on being more present at work, working on being a presence here in Flagstaff, working on compromising when I can and sticking to my guns when I can't.

First things first, I have decided I will not drink crappy beer. I know it sounds silly, but life is too short and calories are too abundant to waste them on something that tastes bad. The argument could be made that I don't drink enough water on a daily basis anyway, so drinking water in lieu of drinking crappy beer is an acceptable alternative. I know that makes me sound like a snob, but I like what I like and with this burgeoning waistline of mine, it's probably in my best interest to have some standards...hahaha!

In a completely different area of compromise, I've gotten to the point where I don't allow people to treat me poorly. Friends, family, coworkers, patients; no one gets a pass here for bad behavior. Once maybe if you're having a bad day (props given for apologizing afterwards), but that's it. For a long time I had people in my life who really didn't treat me all that well, and for a long time I put up with it because I figured I must have been doing something to deserve it. So I tried over and over again to be the person that I thought they wanted me to be, to please them, to bring something interesting to the table, to receive less scorn and more friendship, but some of these people would always find some reason to continue to bring me down. After some long chats with a therapist and friends who are counselors, I realized that my friendship is valuable, and that people who are going to treat me poorly are undeserving of it. Here's the flip side of this whole concept: I used to be one of those people who treated other people poorly. It's true. I was so insecure, and unhappy, and jealous that I wanted those around me who seemed to have it all figured out to come down to my level. I could be a very nasty person. There are days that I think back to things I said and did to some of my closest friends, and it makes me cringe. The fact that most of those people stuck with me and are still some of my very best friends is astonishing to me. They should have kicked my ass to the curb and not looked back. But they didn't, and I'm so eternally grateful that they must have seen something in me worth sticking around for. I hope that keeping me in their circles has been as valuable to them as it has been to me.

It's no secret that I've struggled with being so far away from my friends and family back in Minnesota, and all over the country, for that matter. I fly home at least 4 times a year to see them, which some might find excessive, but I find it to be pretty necessary to my emotional and mental well-being. No one knows you like those who have known you the longest, and I crave that companionship so very much at times.  Not that Flagstaff is new to me at this point (7 years in!), but it's still taken some time for me to establish who I am here and where I fit in. In the past year or so, I feel like I've really solidified some pretty amazing friendships here, and I'm so very stoked about that. I was a little concerned that it was taking so long, but making adult friends in a new place is so incredibly challenging...much more challenging than I ever thought it could be. It makes sense though...as adults we've pretty much established who we are as human beings...what we like, what we don't like, where we like to go, what we like to eat, compromises that are worth making and compromises that are not. Adults tend to already have a lot of people in their lives, and it can be challenging putting in the time and work it takes to maintain new friendships.

Flagstaff's culture has also been a challenge for me. It's very very different from Minnesota's culture. That's not good, bad, or otherwise...it just is what it is and it's something that I've spent a lot of time thinking about, dabbling in, and exploring. Flagstaff can be a pretty intimidating place in some ways. There are a lot of athletes in this town, which makes my benchwarmer past even more apparent. That's on me to be insecure about it, and I've gotten less so as the years have gone on. Being a mediocre dabbler in most things athletic, it's been hard to find my niche as I'm good enough at most things to do them in some capacity, but I'm not proficient enough nor do I enjoy them as much to keep up with those who have been partaking in their particular sport for years and years. A lot of people here tend to gravitate towards one particular sport and stick with it through the long haul. You have climbers, hikers, mountain bikers, runners, road bikers...all kinds of outdoor enthusiasts, and sometimes they're not always willing to cross-dabble in each other's sports. Which is fine for them, but it makes it hard to find mediocre athletes such as myself willing to try a variety of things to stay active and get outside. Truth be told, my motivation to try new things or put in the time on established activities is poor. I hate struggling. If I can't be instantly good at something I don't want to do it. Admittedly, it's a huge character flaw, but luckily I have friends who are unwilling to accept my mediocrity and drag me out of the house whenever they can.

Between July and October, I traveled a lot. So much so that it was almost to the point that I was unpacking my travel bag from one trip and filling it back up for the next trip on the very same day. I would travel, come home and work, and then travel again. During this period of time I went to Minnesota twice, Colorado for the Imogene Pass Run, out of town for a friend's wedding, to Portugal for a birthday trip of sorts, and to Seattle to see our friends Jim and Jess and to meet their adorable little girl, Raegan. Before I get too far into this and sound like an ingrate, let me start by saying I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have the means, the time, and the ability to travel as much as I do. I'm also super fortunate to have friends all over the country to visit. As of late, I've noticed that rather than people asking me about how I am or what I've been up to, they ask me where my next trip is, because that's who I've become to them...someone who is constantly coming and going. I've struggled with this a bit. Flagstaff is my home and I've made some very wonderful friendships here, but I've become that friend who is never around, and that bothers me because it makes me feel unreliable, like I'm not just physically absent, but emotionally absent as well. I've noticed that people don't call and ask me to do things with them as much as they used to, and I'm sure part of it has to do with the fact that I'm always declining because I'm not around. I keep saying no, they stop asking; it's a pretty simple concept. These last few days are the first days in a long time that I've been off work and at home, and they've been so wonderful. Simon and I knocked out a bunch of projects that we'd been shelving for months, I started going back to the gym for my weightlifting class, I've been meeting up with friends I haven't seen in a while, we had people over to the house for a BBQ and card games, we caught up on a couple HBO and Netflix series...it all feels so blissfully normal and I'm so content to just be here with nothing but shifts at work and coffee dates on the calendar for the next couple months.

The funny thing is, and I know my friends with children will afford me no sympathy and maybe won't even be able to empathize with this perspective, is that sometimes I'm a little envious of my friends with kids, because for the most part, their options in what they do with their lives, where they go, who they associate with, where they live, how they spend their money, are by and large determined by their children. I have friends whose lives are completely dominated by music lessons, soccer practice, swim lessons, play dates, and bible school; they don't just feel obligated by it, they're happy about it, and it's accepted that it's what you do when you have children. Having things in my life that are required rather than optional speaks to my (and maybe other people's too) need/craving for structure. Give me a day off with nothing to do and more often than not I'll sit on the couch watching Netflix all day. No one is depending on me to do anything, so I don't. But then other days I get shit done and I'm super productive. My point is that there's nothing strongly driving me to be productive. It's a choice and it's one that I don't have to make because there's rarely anyone else depending on me to make it. As long as the dogs are fed and they make it outside at least twice, maybe I eat something at some point, the rest of the day is open to whatever. Sometimes having too many options and too much freedom is stressful in a way that's hard for me to articulate, but I'll do my best. As a childless person, I still search for meaning in my life, and there are times when I don't really know what that's supposed to look like, because from the moment I was old enough to understand a concept, it was that you grow up, you get a job, you get married, you have kids, you might take a road trip or two in the summer, and that's your life. I wasn't prepared for life without children because that wasn't something that anyone did; it was the option that wasn't presented as an option. In fact, people who didn't have children were often pitied, looked down upon, or completely misunderstood. Everyone I grew up near had children, and the vast majority of my friends and family have children or are actively trying. The desire to have children isn't something I don't necessarily understand; I get why people want those little buggers in their lives, but it wasn't something I desired to have in my own life, and while I don't regret my decision to not have children, and I immensely enjoy other people's children, I'm still working through what life is supposed to look like without them.

Is it doing all the things? Is it having an amazing wardrobe? Is it traveling constantly? Is it having a beautiful home full of breakable trinkets? Is it becoming the crazy dog lady? Is it being the fun auntie to my family and friends? Is it amassing a huge collection of magnets on the fridge to document where I've been and what I've done? Does every choice I make and everything I do truly need to be meaningful? Sometimes I feel bad when I get back from a trip and my friends with kids who don't get to travel as much want to know all about it, and given my lack of story-telling abilities, I give a somewhat disappointing recap of what I did, what I ate, where I went. Traveling is interesting and all, but unless something truly interesting happens, it's hard to know what to tell about it. I can't make someone taste the amazing risotto that I ate, I can't describe the terraced vineyards along the Douro River in a way that does them any sort of justice, I can't fully describe the feeling of stumbling over cobblestones in the late hours of the night in Lisbon, hearing Fado music drifting out from the local bars, I can't fully explain the fluttering in my heart at drinking tea in the wee hours of the morning as elephants walk by on their way to the river. Well, maybe I can. It's just hard to do on the spot. Most of the time my stories go something like this: "We went to this place and we ate this stuff and we saw these things and then we did this outing and it was really cool and now we're home." My storytelling needs work, for sure. So here goes: I'll never forget the time that we were in Florida with our friends Ellen and Fred on their boat, and we stayed out too long and got nearly beached as the tide was going out. Three of us had to get out of the boat to make it more buoyant and to push it off the sandbar. We pushed it for quite a while, because once we were off the sandbar we were in the weeds and couldn't start the engine in all that muck. For a brief moment, I thought for sure we'd be stuck out there for the night until the tide came back in. It was dark, I was cold, I was tired, I was hungry, I was thirsty, and I just wanted to get back home. You can about imagine my attitude throughout all of this (she who hates to struggle...hahaha). After getting back on the boat and well on our way back to our house, we were grumbling a bit about it, and Fred said, "Well, at least we have a story to tell about it. If that hadn't happened, we probably wouldn't still be talking about it at all." And it's so true. I feel like my friends with kids have the best stories because kids are always getting into stuff, causing trouble, pooping their pants at inopportune moments, and saying the most ridiculous things. Kids can be pretty unpredictable and unpredictability in life makes for good stories. So the takeaway from all of this is that the next time I'm at a National Park, I should poop my pants.

Over the course of all this traveling and soul-searching, I've come to realize a few things about myself. I am most definitely, 100%, a people person. I love people. But most of all, I love my people. I love going to exotic places with my friends just as much as I enjoy having a cup of coffee with them at a local cafe. Some of my fondest memories of the places I've been are not necessarily the places, but the experience of being somewhere different with the people who came along. I love having shared experiences with those who I treasure the most. I love seeing the wonder on my friends' faces when they see the Grand Canyon for the very first time. I remember the reverent silence in the car when Simon, my friend Dave, and I emerged from the tunnel overlooking the entire Yosemite Valley. I remember those long, miserable bus trips in Costa Rica over those slow, rumbly roads, sitting next to my friend Ellen the whole time, watching the jungle roll on by, counting down the minutes until we got to get out and hike to a volcano, or see a monkey, or feed a giant iguana an entire head of lettuce. Overlooking the entirety of the city of Lisbon at night wouldn't have been as magical without Simon by my side to share it with me. I went to the north rim of the Grand Canyon three years in a row with the same people, staying at the same campsite, drinking prickly pear margaritas at the same saloon, and had a blast each and every time. A lot of times, the things I remember most about a trip aren't necessarily the places we went, but the way I felt in the company of those there beside me, experiencing all those things together. Friendship is magical.

I've also come to realize that nature is kind of my jam when it comes to traveling. I love being outside, seeing the animals, the trees, the horizon dotted with palm trees or mountains. Sometimes it feels like once you've seen one big city, you've seen them all. I know that's not true and that a lot of cities have a lot to offer a traveler, but the older I get and the more I like experiencing nature, that's how it's starting to feel for me. I enjoy a good meal, a good cup of coffee, and people watching in a new place as much as the next person, but what I really enjoy is crawling out of a warm bed into a cool morning, unzipping the tent and taking in the low morning light, firing up the campstove for that first cup of coffee, and contemplating the day's hike, the next experience, what we're going to see and do, hearing nothing but the wind through the trees and the birds starting their day. I like having beers around the campfire in the evening, hearing the coyotes sing their night songs, and seeing the stars put on a show. I'm not so good at planning trips around experiences in nature. Booking a hotel, a flight, and a rental car is easy, but planning a trip where you have to worry about resources, water, where you're going to camp, what you're going to carry on your back, how the weather might affect your experience, whether or not your vehicle can get you there...that's all very foreign to me. I used to plan camping trips with my friends every summer, but we went to state parks which were full of other people; it was fun at the time but I don't know that I would enjoy it as much not. I've noticed that state and national parks these days seem to be full of people who are not very respectful of the natural space they were treading upon. A lot of them can't even be bothered to get out of their cars, or find themselves injured trying to capture that perfect selfie because no one told them nature can be dangerous. I don't know how many people getting trampled by bison or falling over the edge of the Grand Canyon it's going to take before people start respecting nature. The trash and destruction to our national parks during the government shutdown was infuriating and heartbreaking. People who truly want to be out in nature don't do things like that, and I feel like our parks are becoming less about nature and more about providing a theme park experience in a natural environment...but how else do you get this current population of social media and smartphone obsessed individuals to care about nature? While the parks offer all the amenities and ease of getting the average person into nature, there's a lot of other unpleasantness that can come along with it. Which leaves off-the-grid camping, something that this girl from the Midwest who grew up surrounded by privately-owned land is still trying to figure out. I must have seemed completely daft when I first moved here, when I just couldn't understand the idea that you can go out into the woods and pitch a tent pretty much wherever you like. You'd get arrested for doing something like that in Minnesota, but here in Arizona, there's so much public land that you can camp just about wherever the vehicle you're in can drive, or wherever your two feet can carry you. It's a whole new learning experience and it's intimidating for me. I much prefer to have my friends who do a lot of back country camping just invite me along on their trips (hint hint).

I guess I'll just keep on keeping on, figuring things out one day at a time. :)       

Ponderings on Eating

I'm sure there's a handful of you who have seen the Fairlife Dairy Farms video that's been circulating on Facebook as of late. Some of you may have started watching it and stopped, some of you may have watched to the end and pushed your device away in disgust (as I did), some of you may have scrolled on by, not wanting to participate in watching for various reasons, including, but not limited to: guilt, shame, indifference, weak stomachs, social awareness fatigue, media bias, etc. The reason I bring it up is that the Fairlife video isn't the first nor will it be the last of its kind. Animal abuse in the food industry is also not new, nor is it something that's likely to go away anytime in the future without radical changes on both the local and political level, but that's a conversation for another time.

My whole point with this conversation is that for years I've been conflicted with how I feel about my consumption of animal products and the knowledge of how animals are treated prior to landing on my plate. I grew up in a small, rural farming community in Minnesota. I had both friends and family who made their living off of raising animals for consumption, whether it was dairy, beef, pork, or various aspects of poultry. In middle school, I had a good friend who lived on a dairy farm, and I loved going out there to help out with the chores. Obviously doing chores on a dairy farm is far from glamorous, but to a city kid getting dirty and being around farm animals for a couple days was like taking a trip to an exotic country. Clearly my ideas of what constitutes exotic trips has changed over the years, although I did travel all the way to Thailand to shovel elephant poop, so maybe they haven't changed all that much...hahaha!

Holstein painting by Dottie Dracos

 It's hard to describe the sensory experience one can have in a small dairy barn. Every single sense is stimulated in ways that can be hard to describe, but I'll do my best.

I would have to say that the first thing a you notice in a dairy barn is the smell, and I'm not just talking about poop, although that can be a pretty strong smell. It's the smell of hay, of furry bodies, of cow breath. You walk into the room that houses the bulk tank (where the milk goes after it comes out of the cow) and it smells like something between cheese and milk and something I can't articulate, but once you've smelled it, you'll be able to recognize it for the rest of your life. Not off-putting, but not something that will ever be featured in a scent of the month at a candle shop. There's a vague sweetness to the scent of it. You walk into the barn and you see a row of rubber boots, which you don immediately upon entering because the odds of stepping in something that you'd rather not get on your normal shoes is high. They're barn boots...that's where they are, and that's where they stay. And thank goodness they can be cleaned off with a simple spray of the hose at the end of the day. You see dust motes and hay dust floating on the breeze created by the fans, you see cats darting around underneath the cows, you might see a dog or two wandering up and down the main aisle, you see cows in their stalls munching away on the hay and a small sprinkle of grain that's been set out for them, you see every imaginable pattern of black and white on their large bodies, you see their big strong hooves, and can't help but think about how much it would hurt to get stepped on, you see their watering devices, which are shallow little bowls with a paddle in the middle that a cow presses on with her nose to get the water to come out, or sometimes you just see individual buckets filled with water, kinda depends on the farm. You might hear Oldies music playing softly on the radio. You also hear the loud gentle breathing of the cows, you hear them munching away, you hear soft contented moos and you hear louder irritable moos, you hear them randomly shuffling their feet around or stamping their hooves when they're bothered; you hear the pumps bringing the milk from the milkers attached to the teats all the way to its final destination at the bulk tank. You feel the warmth of their bodies, the slimy wet lick on your hand when they're convinced you've got a treat for them, their simultaneously soft but not-soft hair, you feel the scratchiness of the hay as it pokes through your barn gloves, you feel the callouses and blisters forming on your hands as you wield a shovel or a pitchfork to clean out each stall.

 I remember going out to my friend Krista's farm. She lived on a dairy farm with her parents and her two older brothers. Random fun fact: Krista taught me how to shave my legs without it looking like a blind person with a lawnmower blade had done it. Ha! Back in those days, most small farms didn't have hired hands, that's what the kids were for. I would stay overnight at her house, and we would get up in the wee hours of the morning to go out to the barn to help with the chores. I had itty bitty feet back in those days, and so the barn boots that they had for me to wear were far too large, but they kept my feet clean and dry so they did what they were supposed to do; I just shuffled and clomped about trying to keep up with Krista and her brothers, who were far less enthused about the morning chores than I was. The novelty of tromping around in barn boots in the wee hours of the morning had long ago worn off for them, had it ever been there at all. To be honest, I was probably more of a hindrance than anything, being a city kid and all, but I did my best and they put up with me and it seemed like we were all having fun. Maybe having a random little weirdo tearing around the barn in boots three sizes too big was refreshing if not somewhat entertaining for them. I'd like to think so, anyway.

On Krista's farm, every cow had a name, and every cow had her own stall with her name on it where she was milked twice a day; once in the morning, and once in the evening. If I remember correctly, the cows slept in the barn at night and were let out into the grassy pasture after the morning milking, where they would spend the day until it was time to come back into the barn for the evening milking, which was always a bit of a production. I was not allowed in the main aisle of the barn when the cows were let in for the evening, as it was quite the process and could quite possibly have ended in an accidental trampling. What most people don't realize about cows, is that they are sensitive but stubborn creatures of habit, both good and bad, which is something that a small dairy farmer and his kids know like the backs of their hands. Random city kid, not so much. For example...Bessie always comes in first, and may the force be with whomever gets in her way. Constance always goes into Millie's stall, which results in a small scuffle; a scuffle in this instance being a bunch of disgruntled mooing and stomping of the cloven hooves. Constance is then shamed into her own stall, at which point Millie can proudly claim her spot. Mabel and Lizzie always come in side-by-side. Dorie is always the last to come into the barn, and is admonished with a "quit lollygagging back there!" by one of the kids, and gets a knowing swat on her rear as she ambles on by. What is most impressive about this whole situation, it how orderly and repetitive it is. Every evening is the mostly the same.

After everyone is settled in their freshly cleaned and straw lined stalls, with a nice cube of hay and some corn to munch on, the milking can begin. Farmer and kids move from cow to cow, cleaning her teats and attaching the milkers, sometimes randomly squirting a bit of milk in the direction of one of the many barn cats looking for a handout. I wasn't allowed to help with this part as cleanliness and proper milker attachment is paramount and absolutely not a job for a city kid, so I busied myself with jumping back and forth over the gutters, trying not to fall in (it happened only once that I can remember) and making sure to avoid getting too close to the rear-ends of the cows who were known kickers. After the majority of the milking was done, I remember wandering from cow to cow, giving them a random scratch behind the ears, or a bit of apple or carrot as a treat, fascinated by their long purple tongues and their huge brown eyes. I remember how Krista would point out the nicest cows to me, and we would find two who were laying down next to each other, and we would each settle ourselves in on a cow, resting in the soft warm spot between her belly and her rear leg, slowly rising and lowering with her breath. The original recliner. We would sit like that for as long as her dad would allow, talking about whatever 11 year-olds talk about...probably boys and horses, if I was allowed a good guess. When it was time to turn the lights out we'd leave the barn full of sleeping cows, waking in the morning to do it all over again.

Helga cuddling her cows (from thecowsanctuary.org)

As I write this, I find myself tearing up just a little bit, thinking about all those good memories from my time spent in a dairy barn. These aren't memories that I access often because I feel so far removed from the farmland I used to know so well, both physically and emotionally. It's probably hard for someone who's never been in a barn to empathize with these stories, but some of my best childhood memories were spent on farms, in barns, getting dirty and spending time with these wonderful, gentle creatures. They're experiences that I cherish, and thinking about them makes me happy, but also makes me a little sad.

Sad because I know that most animals who spend their entire lives in factory farms don't have names. They don't have people scratching their heads or hand-feeding them snacks of apples and carrots. They're born in captivity, they spend their entire lives in captivity, and they die in captivity, known only by a number that was assigned to them at birth. Some of them never get the opportunity to go outside and feel the sunshine on their bodies or feel the breeze on their faces. They don't spend their lives being scratched and rubbed and climbed upon by children; the children of factory farms having been replaced by hired hands, many of whom are over worked and under paid and have little time or use for showing a big stubborn animal any extra kindness.

So I'm conflicted. My memories of the dairy farms of my youth are so very far removed from the videos online where farmers and their hired hands are physically abusing the animals they're raising. I wish there was a simple way to be certain that every animal product I consumed came from a small family farm, where the animals were given names, and love, and treats, and were respected for their sacrifice. It's so easy to walk into a store and buy a pound of hamburger, a gallon of milk, a pound of bacon, or a container of cottage cheese and not give two thoughts as to where it came from or how the animal was treated.

Holstein painting by Brent Schreiber

 I'm not going to sit here and admonish people for the choices that they make when it comes to food. That's not what this is about. What this is about is me being affected by something that's been bothering me for a while, and trying to make changes in my own life regarding my usage of animal products. As a consumer of animal products and also someone who really enjoys animals in their living forms, I feel it's my responsibility to find a way to be better about how I use animal products. If that means eliminating some animal products from my life, then that's what it means. If it means I consume less of certain animal products, then that's what it means. If I find a way to acquire animal products from small farmers who are committed to giving their animals names and treating them humanely and with dignity and respect, then that's what it means. 

It's a process, and it's one that I've started and quit time and time again. I know it's going to be a challenge, as not only have I mentally and culturally gotten used to eating a way a certain way, but my body has as well. Things are always subject to change, and this isn't something I'm going to be rigid with, because I've got to live my life too. I think the most successful changes are the ones that are developed gradually, with the option to change your trajectory as new information is obtained. So that's where I'm at.

If you're a small family farmer and you have your own little flock of chickens, or herd of cows, or passel of hogs (how cute is that?), give them a pat and a treat for me. They deserve it. :)